That Was All
by serahrose
Summary: Despite having had no contact with Hermione for seven years, Ron wishes to get in touch with her to ask her a question that could change both of their lives forever. Please read the preceeding Author's Note - VERY IMPORTANT. Also, r & r!
1. The Letters

**Author's Note - PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING:** Hi everybody! Serah Rose here. This is the first Harry Potter fanfic I've uploaded to the site; up till now I've preferred to write Inuyasha fics, mostly, with one High School Musical one thrown in there as well. I wrote this fic in the summer of 2003, which was obviously a very long time ago. I was rummaging through my binder of old stories and poetry and came across this little piece. I decided to improve it so that it would be fit to upload to (because obviously my writing has improved somewhat in the past five years...ha ha). _In this fic, it's implied that Harry and the gang graduated Hogwarts normally instead of leaving to go after the last few Horcruxes, and the entire ending of the series has been changed_, but obviously, if it was the same ending, it wouldn't truly be my story, would it? Also, this was written long before the series ended, so I can't technically be blamed for how I decided to write this. Ha ha._ Just completely disregard _The Deathly Hallows_ (book seven), if you can. _Thanks everyone! So anyway, enough of my rambling. Hope you guys enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I owe J.K. Rowling a great debt for bringing Harry Potter to life. If only I could legally say that this wonderful series was of my own invention. Ha ha. Sadly, however, it is not. I own no rights to any of the characters or anything else in this story except the plot.

—

**Chapter 1 -** The Letters

"Are you completely mad? You haven't even _seen_ Hermione since we left Hogwarts seven years ago! You're not actually thinking about asking her to marry you, are you?" Harry Potter asked his best friend of fourteen years, Ron Weasley. The two men were sitting in the den of their shared London flat, having a few drinks before they turned in for the night. Ron had just told his friend of his intentions to write to Hermione Granger, the woman for whom he had nursed affections for the nearly fourteen years it had been since he had met her during their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had also told Harry that he planned to propose to Hermione if she would agree to meet up with him. It was an idea he'd had for quite some time now.

At first, Ron did not respond to Harry's outburst, but simply stared at the floor and sipped his scotch as his face began to turn the same colour as his hair: flaming red. _Well, maybe I _am_ mad_, Ron thought to himself, _but I'm going to propose to Hermione, no matter what it takes or how stupid an idea Harry thinks it is._ Ron did have to admit that Harry had a point; neither of them had seen Hermione in seven years. They had all kept in contact as best they could, but life had gotten in the way and now their relationship with her was reduced to a few short letters each year. Not having a phone, Harry and Ron had not been able to keep in touch with Hermione in that way since they had first moved to the flat several years before. There were, of course, other methods that they could have used to visit each other, but it seemed that neither of them had ever had sufficient time to even manage that much. Still, Ron had not been able to get Hermione out of his mind lately. She was all he'd been thinking about. He had even been getting stern reprimands from his boss at work because he'd been letting his mind wander on the job. For fourteen years now, Ron had nursed feelings for Hermione that were, as far as he knew, unrequited, and it seemed that they had recently come to a head. It had gotten to the point that if Ron Weasley was not thinking about Hermione Granger, he probably wasn't conscious.

There was nothing you could do about romantic feelings. They were not simply things that you could discard or ignore. This was why Ron knew that he had to get in contact with Hermione, and that he wanted to propose to her.

"Harry, I think I'm just going to go to bed," Ron told Harry, standing up and pushing his right hand through his hair, making it look more unkempt than usual, "see you in the morning, mate."

With that, Ron jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stalked out of the room without another word.

—

The next morning, Ron awoke at 4:00. He had formulated a plan the night before to write a letter to Hermione and send it with Hedwig, Harry's owl, before he went to work. Ron, who had been working at Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley for several years, had a very unfortunate work schedule. He always started at 6:00 am, while Harry was rarely known to get out of bed until at least 7:00. If Ron sent Hedwig off with his letter before Harry awoke, Harry would assume that she had gone off hunting in the middle of the night. He need never know that Ron had already sent it, and would assume that he had abandoned the notion of trying to write to Hermione. Ron knew that Harry would try to talk him out of contacting her, and that this was the one way to ensure he wouldn't be bothered.

As quietly as possible (so as not to wake Harry, who was still fast asleep in the next room), Ron rummaged around in his chest of drawers until he found some parchment, a quill and an inkwell. When he had found the items he needed, he sat down at his desk, dipped his quill into the ink, then moved his hand so that the tip of the quill rested just above the parchment. For the longest time, he sat in silence, staring at the wall behind his desk but not actually seeing it. Deciding what to write to the girl he loved (whom he had not seen in seven years) proved to be much more difficult than he had anticipated.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ron finally managed to scratch out a short letter. Once he had finished, he sat back in his desk chair and re-read his words.

_Friday, 21__st__ March_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Hello! How have you been? Everything is fine here. I'm still working at Quality Quidditch Supplies; pay is still terrible and my boss is still a holy terror, but at least it keeps me occupied..._

(Ron had considered omitting this part of the letter, realizing that he sounded completely dull and somewhat petty - who cared what his pay and boss were like, after all?)

_Listen, the reason I'm writing this is because I wanted to ask you if you'd like to come for a visit sometime next week. If you're not busy, of course, which you might be. I can completely understand if you are. But if you're not...well, I'd love to see you._

_Send your answer back with Hedwig A.S.A.P._

_Take care, _

_Ron_

Once Ron had finished reading his very short letter, he added in directions to the flat, in case Hermione should decide to take him up on his offer and come to visit. She had never been to the flat before, of course, and would have no idea where to go if she wasn't told.

Looking up at the clock on the wall, Ron realized that he had been working on that short excuse for a letter for over an hour, and that he would most certainly be late for work if he didn't hurry.

Ron dashed out into the hall, and turned right to go into Harry's bedroom. Normally, Harry kept his door unlocked at night, so Ron pushed on the wood of the door, expecting it to swing open. When it didn't, the red-haired Weasley began to panic. Under normal circumstances he would have simply used his wand and performed _Alohomora_, but he had been unable to locate his wand in several days (much to his displeasure).

_Why would he choose last night of all nights to lock this?_ Ron wondered miserably as he tried the handle. No luck. _If I don't get Hedwig soon, I'll be late for work. Can't really afford any more screw-ups, either, what with already being on probation for not paying attention to anything I'm doing while I'm on duty._

There was nothing for it. He was going to have to wake Harry up and simply deal with his reaction when it came.

Not bothering to be courteous, Ron pounded on Harry's door with all his strength, stopping only when he heard a muffled grunt coming from inside the room. At this, Ron backed away slightly and waited for Harry to come to the door.

After a few seconds, the door opened slowly and a half-asleep, tousle-haired Harry Potter poked his head out into the hallway. His eyes were halfway gummed together with sleep and he looked a little disoriented.

"Whassamatter?" Harry asked his friend in a thick voice.

Ron inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and spoke. "I need to borrow Hedwig," he said simply.

"What for?" Harry asked. Then, suddenly, as though a sudden burst of understanding had hit him like a cast iron frying pan over the head, his eyes flew open. "You're not still on about sending a letter to Hermione, are you?" he asked skeptically.

Ron sighed. He had expected this, and it was for exactly this reason that he had hoped to take Hedwig in silence before Harry woke up.

"You know, mate," Harry continued, stepping out into the hall and closing his door once again so he could lean against it, "it's been seven years. Don't you think it's possible that she might already have a boyfriend by now, or a fiancé, or even a _husband_, come to that?"

Ron was stung by Harry's words. "Don't you think she would have told me?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, mate. Two or three letters a year aren't really enough to cover that kind of thing, are they?"

Outraged, Ron's eyes flashed and narrowed slightly. "Listen, Harry, I haven't got time for this. I'll be late for work, and I can't see why you've got such a problem with me writing to Hermione! Can I borrow Hedwig or not?"

Harry looked startled. It was a very rare occasion when he saw his best friend look quite this angry. "Ron," he began, trying to speak as slowly and gently as he could, so as not to arouse Ron's anger any further, "I just don't want to see you get hurt, all right?"

Ron relaxed slightly but said nothing.

"I'm not going to stop you," Harry began, "you can borrow Hedwig, mate, I don't mind," Harry told his friend, before disappearing into his bedroom to fetch her from her cage. When he had gotten her, he brought her out to the hallway, where she hopped onto Ron's shoulder, as if she knew exactly what was going on.

Without another word, Ron returned to his bedroom. He sealed the letter in an envelope and tied it quickly to Hedwig's leg before opening his window and sending the beautiful snowy owl off into the inky black sky. She could have no way of knowing that, in essence, she was carrying Ron's entire future with her as she flew toward Hermione.

—

On Sunday morning, Ron woke up to a tapping sound coming from outside his bedroom window. With much grunting and groaning (Sunday was Ron's only day off that week and he'd been looking forward to a much-needed opportunity to stay in bed as late as he wanted to), he fought his way through several layers of sleep, opened his eyes, and stared at the window above his bed.

It was when that he saw Harry's owl, Hedwig, hovering on the other side of the glass, a letter clasped in her beak.

Ron sat bolt upright and threw open the window for the owl. She flew majestically into his bedroom, dropped the letter onto Ron's bedspread while still in flight and then took off out of the window again - she obviously was in the mood to do some hunting.

Once Hedwig had departed, Ron snatched the letter up from his bed and ripped the envelope with such speed that anyone watching would probably have thought it hadn't even happened. Heart pounding out of his chest, he began to silently read the neatly written words that were written on the parchment.

_Dear Ron,_

_Thanks so much for your letter. I can't tell you how wonderful it was to hear from you! It's been much too long._

_My life has been fairly eventful lately, I must admit, but the things that have been happening aren't really fit to be explained in a letter, which brings me to my next point: I would absolutely love to come for a visit! We have so much catching up to do!_

_How would Thursday, the 27__th,__ be for you? If this is inconvenient in any way, let me know._

_Hoping you are well, and looking forward to seeing you and Harry,_

_Hermione_

Wishing to reply to Hermione immediately, Ron found some parchment and his quill, and scratched out a letter to send back to the woman he loved (and, with any luck, would be proposing to by the end of the week). He told her that the 27th would be fine, and that he was ecstatic she was coming.

It would only be a matter of time before Ron would finally get to see his Hermione again, and "ecstatic" wasn't actually a strong enough word for how he was feeling at the moment.

—

**A/N:** So what do you think? Should I work on the rest and submit the next chapter or two? This isn't going to be a very long fic; three to four chapters maximum, I would estimate, but if you guys don't think I should bother with the rest then I won't. Either way, it's up to you guys! I'd love to hear what you all think, whether you hated this or loved it. :) Let me know!


	2. Engaged

**Author's Note: **So here we go with chapter two! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed or added this story (or me) to their Alerts list! In no particular order, here they are: **lhw**, **InuKagSanMirFan** (to whom I owe my life, basically! :D), **mclaughlin**, **ObsessedRHShipper** and **AvaHaruno**. And of course, huge thanks are extended to anyone who reads/reviews this fic in the future. :)

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own Harry Potter or anything to do with him. The lovely J.K. Rowling is the only person in the world who can say that! -Cries like a baby-

—

**Chapter 2 - **Engaged

The next few days passed in a haze of ultimate happiness and contentment for Ron. Harry couldn't help but laugh at his friend and the way he had begun to act. As much as Harry didn't think that Ron's plan was going to work out, he had to admit that he was happier than Harry had ever seen him.

On Tuesday, when Harry got home from work, Ron was to be found in the small kitchen of their flat, doing a complicated dance which somewhat resembled a waltz (with himself as a partner) and humming tunelessly. His arms were outstretched in mid-air, as though holding on to an invisible partner, and his eyes were closed. On his face was an expression of pure elation. Harry grinned and backed out of the kitchen before Ron opened his eyes and saw him there.

By Wednesday, Ron was so happy that he didn't simply walk around the flat to get to where he needed to go; he floated. Even at work, he grinned like an idiot at all the customers and was in such a good mood that even the usual, absurd questions he got asked ("Excuse me, is there any way I could get this for free?", "If I buy two of these, will you throw in another for half the price?") didn't get to him. At the end of the day, before Ron clocked out, his boss came up to him and commended him on the excellent job he'd done that day.

"Must have found yerself a girl, have ye?" Mr. Morrish asked Ron as he pulled on his jacket, "Nothin' but tha' could have ye in such a good mood, m'boy."

Ron blinked twice. _Wow._ Was he that obvious?

—

Finally, after what seemed like years, Thursday arrived. Ron woke up early and called in sick to work. As soon as Harry left the flat, Ron set about the task of cleaning it top to bottom. It took him all morning and the better part of the afternoon to finish the job (two men in their twenties living together has never been grounds for cleanliness, believe you me). He scrubbed every surface of the kitchen until it shone, and took such pains to clean the den that Ron strongly suspected that it looked better now than it had when he and Harry had moved in. He even went so far as to tidy up his bedroom a bit.

Well, he called it tidying, but it was, in actuality, simply moving things around and poking them into random, out-of-sight places so that they wouldn't be seen.

Once the flat was pristine enough to suit Ron's taste, he went to his bedroom and brought out the engagement ring he'd inherited from his grandmother Weasley. It was a fairly simple ring; just a plain gold band with one diamond in the centre. Grandmother Weasley had never been the richest of people, after all. Ron was proud of it, however, and hoped that Hermione would like it.

By 6:30 in the evening, Ron realized for the first time that he had not told Hermione a time to come to the flat, nor had she provided him with a time to expect her. _Oops._ How could he have missed that little detail?

Around 6:45, he began to pace. Round and round the den he walked, moving in constant circles, wringing his hands absentmindedly. He was good and nervous now.

_Did I make the wrong decision? Was it a good idea to write her? What the heck have I done? _These questions and more plagued Ron's overextended, hyper mind as he worked on slowly wearing a huge, circular hole in the carpeted floor of the den.

A short time later, a knock came on the door. Snapping out of his reverie, Ron hesitated, his eyes wide with excitement and bad nerves brought about by _too much_ excitement. This was it! After seven long, lonely, loveless years, he was finally going to see Hermione Granger.

Inhaling deeply, Ron marched briskly to the door (because he feared that unless he moved with forceful purpose, his legs would fail him, turn to jelly, and render him immobile) and, after only a second's hesitation, opened it. He was wearing the same big, stupid grin that he had pasted onto his face at work for the past few days, and he stretched out his arms to give Hermione a hug. Such was his happiness that he didn't even care how he looked.

As the door opened fully, Ron could barely contain his excitement. His skin was most likely the only thing keeping his innards from bouncing everywhere at once out of pure joy. He couldn't believe that, at long last, he was finally reunited with -

"**Harry?!**" Ron bellowed in anguish as soon as his brain had caught on to the fact that the person standing outside the door was not the girl he loved after all, but Harry, looking confused.

"Hello to you, too, mate," Harry said dully as he barrelled past Ron and into the flat, "No need to sound so upset at the sight of me," he continued, throwing himself into the squashy armchair in the den and looking over his shoulder at Ron, who was still standing at the doorway, completely nonplussed.

"Ron?" Harry called out, "What's got into you?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Ron turned around and walked into the den to join his friend. His face had gone the colour of his hair once again (why did it have such a habit of doing that lately?) and he could barely look Harry in the eyes.

"I thought you were Hermione," Ron said simply, not bothering to hide his disappointment at the fact that Harry wasn't, in fact, Hermione.

"Hermione? She's coming tonight?" Harry asked, surprised. Although he had known fully well that Ron had written to her to ask her to come and visit, he'd had no idea what day the two of them had agreed upon.

Ron nodded. "Sorry about that, mate," he said, finally regaining some (emphasis on _some) _composure and losing some of the redness in his cheeks, "I was honestly - !"

Laughing, Harry patted his friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, mate. If I'd known who you thought I was, I probably would have just played along for some laughs!"

Ron blanched. "You daft prick!" he roared, jumping up and catching Harry in a headlock. He knew that Harry had only been joking, and trying to make light of the Hermione situation, but that didn't stop Ron from attempting (and failing) to give Harry a savage beating.

—

At around 7:30, once Ron and Harry had finished horsing around long enough that Ron had begun to pace once again, a knock came on the door for the second time that night. Ron looked at Harry, who cocked his head in the direction of the door to get Ron to hurry up and answer it.

Walking quite slowly this time, Ron approached the door at a snail's pace and opened it just enough to see outside. He could see enough of the person standing on the other side of the door to know that this was the person he'd been hoping it was.

Doing an internal somersault, Ron pushed the door open wide and there stood Hermione Jane Granger, beaming widely.

Ron's eyes seemed to want to look everywhere at once, and he was practically drinking in the sight of the woman standing before him. She was several inches taller than Ron remembered, and more curvy, to be sure. She seemed to have taken to taming her mane of curly hair, and now instead of being big and bushy, it hung in elegant waves around her shoulders. As she smiled, Ron noticed that her front two teeth were considerably less prominent than they had been the last time he had seen her. Ron had never actually cared about how her teeth (or any of the rest of her body) looked, and had always thought she was attractive, but now, she was...she was...

She was beautiful.

"Hermione," Ron said simply, smiling inwardly at the pleasure of being able to say her name to someone other than himself or Harry. At the sound of her name, Hermione hugged Ron very gently, still smiling.

Was it just Ron, or did Hermione seem a little stiff?

Breaking away from the hug, Hermione finally spoke. "Oh, Ron," she said, "it's wonderful to see you. It's been too long."

Ron nodded. "It has," he confirmed, and then said "Please come in."

There was a long pause in conversation as Hermione stepped into the flat and followed Ron toward the den. It didn't seem that either of them quite knew what to say. Perhaps it had been too long since they had seen each other; perhaps they had nothing in common anymore. Ron considered this, and then began to panic.

_Blimey, did I make a mistake?_ he wondered internally for the second time that evening, trying not to let the panic that this notion brought him show on his face, _Was I stupid to ask Hermione to come here?_

The best Ron could do to console himself was to constantly remind himself that Hermione had, at the very least, agreed to come and visit. Even if she hadn't wanted to, she was here, wasn't she? That was something, right?

Still, however, Ron simply could not seem to shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

—

Everything was going along wonderfully. As uncomfortable at the initial greeting had been, that's how well everything turned out afterward. By 10:00, Harry, Ron and Hermione were quite close to polishing off their second bottle of wine of the evening, and having an excellent time, just sitting and talking. They had a lot to catch each other up on after seven years.

First, the three reminisced about their days at Hogwarts, which seemed so long ago now. The seven years they had spent at their wizarding boarding school, they agreed, had been the happiest of their lives so far. Of course, it had been fraught with mishaps, complications, and more trouble than they dared to remember, but in many ways, it had been the first step toward who they would become in their adult lives, and it had brought them together, which was the very best thing they could have asked for.

"I miss it sometimes," Harry mused, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"So do I," Ron agreed, nodding his head and staring into his wine glass. He did not trust himself to look at his friends, because he knew that if he did, he would most likely begin to tear up, and he didn't want to do that. The memories that were just below the surface of his mind were sure to present themselves to him in full force if they were to keep talking like this.

There was another reason why Ron wasn't able to look at Hermione, of course, but that was more out of nerves than anything else. Nonchalantly, Ron touched the bulge in his right pocket where his engagement ring lay, waiting to be given to Hermione. His heart began to race, but he knew that he mustn't give the ring to her yet. He had to wait for the right moment. A few days beforehand, Ron and Harry had arranged it so that Harry would go out into the kitchen for a bit, appearing to have to check on something, so that Ron would have a few moments alone with Hermione to "pop the question". It would all work out perfectly.

It had to.

—

As if on cue, before too long, Harry jumped up from the squashy armchair he'd been sitting in, with the words "I think I'll go open another bottle of wine". Ron's innards began to dance the conga as Harry walked out of the room with more speed than would technically have been necessary to just get more wine for them to drink.

Ron ran his fingers roughly through his hair, trying to relax. This was, undoubtedly, the hardest thing he'd ever have to do in his life, but also the most wonderful. After spending years upon years thinking about this moment, and wanting it to somehow come to be, it was finally unfolding, and thus far, everything had gone perfectly to Ron's plan.

"So, Ronald," Hermione said, turning to him once Harry had left the room and grinning slightly, "how are things in the love department for you these days?"

Ron chuckled. "Well, there's a good question without an interesting answer!" he began, before going on to say, "I'm very, very single. Have been ever since, well, ever, basically." Now his heart was hammering at a speed which he knew would eventually have to bruise his rib cage. He reached down and felt the bulge in his pocket once more, preparing to take the ring box out and present it to the woman he loved with all his heart. "How about you, Hermione?" Ron asked, trying to stay casual and hoping to hear her give one answer, and one answer in particular.

Unfortunately, however, fate is cruel. The answer Ron wanted was not the one that Hermione gave him when she spoke next.

Without thinking about how what she was about to tell him would affect him, or really looking apologetic (why should she, after all, when she had no idea how he felt about her?), Hermione told him, "Actually, I'm engaged."

—

Ron felt as though he had been punched in the stomach.

Engaged.

Never in his life had he imagined that this one word, those two little syllables, could affect him so entirely. Normally, when he thought of engagement, he thought of pleasant things, such as happiness, love, and marriage. When he heard the word coming out of Hermione's mouth as she sat in his den, completely oblivious to how her words had affected him, however, he saw red. The word _engaged_ no longer carried positive connotations. All he wanted to do was murder whatever git Hermione was planning to marry.

Ronald Weasley was normally a very docile person who would never hurt a fly to save his own life. It was a mark of how in love he was with Hermione Granger, and how badly he had wanted to propose to her, that he was having such disturbed thoughts.

It was with great difficulty that Ron arranged his face into something that might have passed for a smile. Somehow, he managed to find his voice as well, and used it to offer Hermione congratulatory wishes that he didn't give honestly, and wished he didn't have to give at all.

Despite the fact that Ron had tried to sound as sincere as possible, Hermione was, of course, a genius, and not easily fooled. She could tell that something wasn't quite right about the way he had congratulated her on her engagement. Hermione looked at him, puzzled, and raised one eyebrow in confusion. "Ron," she asked, "are you all right?"

Ron could not bring himself to look at Hermione. He chose instead to stare at his knees as he told her, "Of course! I'm just perfect!" in a falsely squeaky voice.

"Ronald," Hermione said, sounding both exasperated and concerned for her friend, "what is it? I can tell you're hiding something from me!"

With a sad sort of chuckle, Ron stood up from his chair slowly and smiled down at the woman he had loved for fourteen years; the woman who had just ripped his heart into several small pieces and then stamped on it without even realizing she'd done it; the woman who had no idea how he felt about her.

"I'm fine, Hermione, honestly," Ron lied, "and besides, it doesn't really matter how I feel, does it?"

With that, Ron walked to the door, swung it open, and bowed Hermione out of his flat. He couldn't have her there any longer. Not and expect to keep his sanity, in any case.

Hermione was completely confused. "Ronald Weasley! What on earth is going on?" she cried, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. It's getting late and I have to get up early for work tomorrow," Ron said, lying again. It was true that he did have to work the following day, but it wasn't actually very late and he knew fully well that sleeping would be the last thing he would be doing tonight. He motioned to the door.

Eyes flashing, Hermione snatched up her handbag, walked toward the door and straight out of it, without so much as a backward glance.

"I don't know what's gotten into you all of a sudden, Ron, but once you've figured it out for yourself, perhaps we can try this again," she said over her shoulder as she walked toward the elevator. Without responding, Ron shut the door to his flat and leaned against it, closing his eyes and letting the pain he'd been trying to keep down, take him over.

_Engaged._

He had wanted to hear that word from Hermione tonight, and he had, but the only problem was that she hadn't said it in the manner he had hoped for.


	3. Three Months Later

**Author's Note:** Another huge thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review the previous chapter (and to those who added this fic or me to their Alert lists): **lhw, Alquimista, livin-in-a-cardboard-box, InuKagSanMirFan, and Avanell**. I love you all!I did the best I could to personally reply to everyone who reviewed, but if for some reason I missed you, rest assured that I did read your review and truly appreciate it. Thanks guys!

**Disclaimer:** No Harry Potter ownage. Not for me, anyway. Not now, not then, not ever again (wow, now I have to add another disclaimer saying that I don't own any of the works by Dr. Seuss. I`ve simultaneously destroyed two copyrights in the space of three sentences. Ha ha).

—

**Chapter 3 -** Three Months Later

Looking back on the period of his life which came after Hermione`s visit, Ron would never be able to remember in the future exactly how he got through it. For the life of him he wouldn't ever be able to tell anyone how he managed to stay sane.

Hermione`s news had dealt a devastating, crushing, almost crippling blow to Ron. He`d pinned all his hopes over the past number of years on the idea that perhaps Hermione would one day agree to become his wife. When she inadvertently told him that wouldn't be possible, he didn't think he would ever be able to recover.

Unable to write to her due to his extreme embarrassment and distress, and unable to call her because of his lack of a phone, Ron spent the next two months of his life in abject misery. Not even Harry could bring Ron around from his depression or do anything to reach him. Not for lack of trying, however. Harry had suggested therapy, a vacation, a visit home and any number of other things to get Ron off his arse, out of the flat, and distracted, even if only for a moment.

Nothing worked.

Ron quit his job at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and preferred to spend his days lazing around his bedroom, staring out the window, as though expecting - or hoping? - to see something - or someone? - walking by outside who would possibly be able to offer him something to get him out of his permanent funk. He rarely spoke, and when he did, he was irritable and moody, such that after a while, Harry stopped trying to communicate verbally with his best friend and flatmate. It broke Harry's heart to see him like this. His urge to bellow "I told you so!" was squashed whenever it reached the surface of his consciousness by the sight of his listless, despondent friend, moping silently around the flat. Ronald Weasley had even become too miserable to tease.

—

Three months or so after the ill-fated visit from Hermione, which neither Harry or Ron had spoken of since, Hedwig returned to the flat after having been gone for a number of days, carrying a thin letter. Harry heard the faint but unmistakable tapping of her beak upon the glass of his bedroom window, and went to investigate. Once inside his room, he opened the window to allow Hedwig to come inside. She flew inside with easy grace and he detached the letter from her thin leg. The address of the flat was written on the envelope in tiny, neat writing that Ron and Harry would have recognized from a mile off (since they had spent so much of their school days copying the words written by the person whose handwriting this was, in order to finish their more difficult and lengthy homework assignments on time).

Curious as to what the letter could possibly say but not wanting to open it without Ron, Harry carried the letter, still sealed, out into the den, where Ron was sitting in silence and polishing off his eighth glass of vodka and cranberry juice of the day.

"Oi, mate, take a look at this," Harry said to his more-than-slightly inebriated friend as he handed the letter to him. Ron looked at the thin, beige envelope, considered it for a moment, then turned his face away.

Harry was puzzled. "Ron, don't you want to read this?" he asked, thrusting the letter even closer to Ron's face, willing him to at least touch it. "It's not a Howler, trust me," he continued, trying to make light of the situation and to make Ron laugh.

That didn't happen, however.

"No, I bloody well don't want to read that, Harry," Ron said, his voice badly slurred by the alcohol he'd consumed, coupled with his lack of any desire to bother making coherent speech.

"You'll regret it if you don't, mate," Harry said slowly and calmly. He actually did feel quite strongly that Ron should at least read whatever Hermione had sent to them. Perhaps what the envelope contained could change Ron's mood and the course of his life for the better.

Perhaps.

Ron, however, had a different idea about what he should do with the letter: ignore it. Keeping his face turned away from Harry, Ron kept glancing nonchalantly out of the corner of his eye to see that his friend was still standing next to him, letter extended. When it became apparent that Harry had no intention of going anywhere, Ron turned around to face him.

"Sod off!" he screamed, before jumping up with alarming force and stomping out of the flat.

More concerned for his friend's welfare than what Hermione's letter said, Harry ran after Ron at top speed, hoping to catch him before he got too far or did any damage to any public property. Or to himself.

—

It took a while, but Harry finally managed to track Ron down. He found him sitting at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, ordering himself a stiff drink. Harry entered the pub and raced across the room to the bar just in time to cancel Ron's order.

"He doesn't need that," Harry explained to a very confused Tom, the barkeeper. To everyone's astonishment, the wizened old man was still working at the Leaky Cauldron after 50 years. Preferring to keep the peace rather than ask why Harry - who was covered in rainwater and mud (and looked a little worse for wear, if the truth be told) from racing through the streets of London until he'd reached the one spot he expected his friend to have gone - was refusing to let Tom get Ron a drink, the old bartender simply shrugged his thin, frail shoulders and disappeared behind a swinging door into the supply room behind the bar.

"Oi! Where the bloody 'ell do you get off, Harry Potter?" Ron asked, rounding on Harry with eyes narrowed. Harry could tell that Ron had to have had at least a few drinks in the time it had taken Harry to find him, because his speech was slurred even more badly now than it had been back at the flat, and Ron seemed to be having a little trouble keeping his bloodshot eyes focussed on anything for more than a second or two at a time.

Harry had never seen Ron like this.

"Ron, mate, you've got to come back. You're sloshed. Who knows what could happen if you stay out here?" Harry said to Ron, clapping a hand on his shoulder and sitting down on the bar stool next to him.

Ron scoffed and brushed Harry's hand away. "You d-don't even know who I am, H-Harry!" he exclaimed, somewhat more loudly than he would normally have been comfortable with. "Y-you don't know how m-much this hurts! I love her, and she doesn't love me! She loves somebody else! Some rancid git who p-pro-probably got her pregnant or s-something!"

By this time, the rest of the patrons in the Leaky Cauldron had turned to see who was making such a fantastic racket, and none of them looked overly pleased.

"Ron," Harry hissed, bending low so that no one could hear him, "I do know you, you stupid git. I do know how much it hurt..." Harry paused and considered the rest of his sentence. He wanted to say _I do know how much it hurt to find out that Hermione is engaged_, but he thought that, in Ron's current state, the mention of Hermione's name might send him over the edge. That thought in his mind, Harry tried to think of a decent lie and continued to speak: "...how much it hurt to..."

While Harry racked his brain for a plausible lie, he heard an almighty _THUNK_ from directly next to him. Looking down at the bar, he saw that Ron had passed out directly onto the wooden counter top.

—

The following day, Ron awoke in his bed with absolutely no recollection of how he had gotten there. The sunlight pouring in through his bedroom window was too much for his eyes as he first opened them, so he hauled his comforter up over his head to block it out. He felt as though he had been shot repeatedly.

_How the bloody hell did I get like this?_ he wondered miserably, massaging his forehead, which felt approximately ten times its normal size and as though someone was crashing cymbals right next to his ear.

Then, the memories of last night came flooding back into his mind, adding to his headache. Running out of the flat...the Leaky Cauldron...getting horrifically drunk...

But he still could not remember how he'd got home!

Suddenly, a knock came on his bedroom door.

"Come in, Harry," Ron said to it, not bothering to remove the covers from his face. Who would want to see him, anyway, miserable git that he'd turned out to be?

"Ron, mate, is everything all right?" Harry's voice called from across the room once he'd come inside.

"Fan-bloody-tastic," Ron replied.

Harry sighed. 'I know, mate. I know," he said, "you were in a bad way when I apparated us home last night. I couldn't wake you up no matter what I tried, and trust me, I tried. It's really hard to apparate with somebody who isn't conscious. Guess nobody ever saw fit to mention that at school." Harry allowed himself a moment's amusement at his little joke, then looked back at his friend who had not stirred from underneath the bedclothes.

"So that was how I got home?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded, then remembered that Ron wouldn't be able to see that, so he said, "It was. There was no way you would have been able to get back here on your own steam, mate."

With a groan, and in one swift movement, Ron threw the comforter off his face. The light stung his eyes afresh, but this time, he did nothing to avoid it. Instead, he sat up straight and looked at Harry for the first time that day. He noticed that in Harry's hand was the same letter he'd been trying to get him to read the day before. Ron pointed at it.

"I think I can probably read that now," he said. Harry crossed the room, gave the letter to Ron, and turned to leave again. He knew that Ron would most likely want some privacy while he read whatever it was that Hermione had sent.

Walking out the door, Harry called over his shoulder, "Let me know if you need anything, mate," and turned left to go down the hall, leaving Ron alone with his thoughts and the thin letter from Hermione clasped in his fist.

Taking a shuddering breath, Ron began to tear open the envelope with trembling fingers. Why did he feel this way? What was he expecting Hermione to say? Why did he even care?

The trouble was, he knew exactly why he felt this way (because he still loved her in spite of everything he'd suffered because of her), he knew exactly what he wanted Hermione to say (that she was no longer engaged and wanted to be with him), and he knew exactly why he cared (again, because he still loved her).

He knew, however, that he was being ridiculous. There was nothing he could do about how he felt now. The chances of the letter containing a message saying that Hermione was no longer engaged and wanted to be with Ron were so slim that the idea was completely asinine, but still, he loved her.

Finally, after what felt like six months, Ron finally managed to tear open the envelope and extract the letter it contained. Summoning what little courage he had, he began to read her words.

_Dear Ron (and Harry, if you're reading this) -_

_I hope this letter finds you well. We didn't exactly part on the best of terms on that night three months ago, and I sincerely hope that everything is all right._

_I'm actually writing to find out exactly what it was that happened. The way things ended were a bit confusing to me and I don't really understand what went wrong. _

_Normally I wouldn't put this sort of thing in a letter. I would have called, but I remember you mentioning that you don't have a phone, and I should have written sooner but I honestly didn't know whether or not it would be a good idea._

_Anyway, if you feel at all like replying to this, please do. I don't want our friendship to end, especially this bitter way, and I would love to hear from you. If you'd rather not, however, I do understand. I just want you to know that I will always be here if you ever need me, and that I wish nothing but the best for the both of you._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. - I enclose an invitation to my wedding. You both are more than welcome to come, if you would like to._

Once Ron had finished reading the letter, he looked in the envelope once more and, sure enough, there were invitations in there for him and for Harry to the wedding of Hermione Jane Granger to Thomas Gregory Newell in London on the 12th of July, instructing them to bring guests if they desired. Ron guessed that Harry would bring his sister Ginny, who he had been seeing off and on ever since they had left Hogwarts.

There was no way, however, that Ronald Weasley would be at that wedding.

To illustrate his point to no one in particular, Ron took the invitation made out to him and ripped it in two.


	4. The End

**Author's Note: **You guys! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this chapter uploaded. It completely slipped my mind. I know this isn't much of an excuse, but university really does chew up all your free time (then spits it back out at you while laughing in your face...okay, wow, I really do have problems, don't I?). Genuinely, I'm sorry. This will be the final chapter for this fic. I did write a sequel, a songfic which I think was entitled "Never Had a Dream Come True". It's lurking somewhere in the binder of all the stuff I wrote back five/six years ago, which is at home. When I'm done school for the summer I might dig out that binder, find the sequel and do a bit of tweaking so it's readable and ready to post to the site. I'll also have to modify it so that it's no longer a songfic, since technically the site doesn't really look too kindly on those anymore. For now, though, I leave all you wonderful people with this final chapter of "That Was All". Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I still do not own Harry Potter. There. I've said it. Now that's off my chest. Phew!

* * *

**Chapter 4** - The End

Over the next few weeks, Ron worked as hard as he could to get his life back on track. He went back to Quality Quidditch Supplies and asked Mr. Morrish for his job back, he stopped drinking constantly, and he tried as best he could to convince himself that he was happy.

He was going to drive Hermione from his memory.

He could have gone on like that for quite a while if not for what happened on the 10th of July, two days before Hermione's wedding.

It was a Thursday like any other, Ron supposed later, and completely unremarkable. Business was slow, so Ron sat around behind the check-out counter for most of the day, watching the comings and goings of the people passing by the large front windows of the shop. Occasionally, a customer would come in and look at something and then leave. By lunchtime, he had made no sales, which was highly unusual, and Ron was quite bored.

If he had kept himself busy, he would not have seen Hermione walking past the shop, hand in hand with a man he'd never seen before, smiling and chatting happily.

It was as though a fire had been ignited in his heart. Boiling hatred and resentment bubbled up inside of his chest, threatening to consume his entire body. _So this must be Thomas Newell, _Ron thought to himself as he looked at the man walking with Hermione. He was shorter than Ron by about a head, with dark brown hair and glasses. He was dressed well, but not too spectacularly. For all intents and purposes, he was an average person, and not a threat to anyone.

The thing was, however, Ron still hated him with every fibre of his being.

Fighting the urge to storm out of the shop, follow Hermione and Thomas down the street and punch Thomas in the back of the head, Ron ducked below the check-out counter, in the guise of one who was checking for something down there. There was no way that Mr. Morrish would be able to accuse Ron of being lazy (which he had done before) when Ron was doing such a job of looking like he was hard at work.

In reality, however, Ron wasn't actually doing anything of job-related importance as he hid himself behind the counter, staring blankly into the cubicles that were down there.

He was fighting the urge to vomit.

* * *

Later in his life, Ron would have absolutely no recollection of how he got home that day. He would never again for the life of him remember walking home, terribly miserable, and contemplating the best way to off himself so that he wouldn't have to deal any longer with the pain that had nagged at him for the past four months. All he knew was that he got home; he didn't remember the trip.

For the rest of the night, Ron kept himself locked in his bedroom, away from civilization and human contact. Harry had gone on a several-day business trip and wasn't expected back until tomorrow. Ron was glad of this. He didn't think he would be able to handle going through the motions of everyday life and act like everything was fine.

_What happened?_ Ron wondered miserably as he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, particularly interested in a stain (made of some unidentifiable matter) in the shape of an apple directly above his pillow. _I've been doing so well! Why did seeing Hermione send me over the edge like that?_

Above all else, during the past few weeks, Ron had told himself that, even if he happened to see Hermione anywhere, he would not allow himself to be hurt or to long for what he couldn't have. He had told himself that he would be fine.

The only problem was, he wasn't fine. Trying to convince yourself that you can do something and then actually doing it are two completely different things.

* * *

July 12th dawned sunny and warm. A more beautiful day could not have been imagined. The trees in the nearby park were in full bloom, the flowers were blossoming to their full potential, a few thin clouds danced across the expansive blue sky, and a gentle breeze blew in the air, bringing relief to what would otherwise have been quite a humid summer day. It was the sort of morning that made you glad to be alive.

The only person who didn't actually care if he was alive on that day, however, was Ronald Weasley.

He could not have been more miserable.

Upon first receiving the invitation to Hermione's wedding, Ron had decided not to go and had, of course, ripped his invitation in two and thrown it into the trash can in the kitchen. Still, however, he couldn't change the fact that it was still happening and that other people would want to go to it.

Including Ron's flatmate and best friend.

Harry had spoken to Ron a few weeks beforehand about the wedding, and had asked if Ron had any intention of going. When Ron had refused point-blank, Harry had asked if Ron minded if he went along anyway.

"I'd like to be there for Hermione's sake, mate, but if you'd rather I didn't go, I'll stay home. It's up to you," Harry had told his friend. Ron had assured him that it was fine, and that if Harry wanted to go, that he didn't have a problem with it.

"There's no way I'm going, though, Harry, so don't even bother trying to ask me later if I've changed my mind."

Harry had shaken his head. "I won't, mate," he had assured Ron.

Now that the day had arrived, however, Ron was singing a slightly different tune. As Harry bustled around the flat getting ready ("Where the bloody hell did I put my - ?" "I could have sworn I put - !" "I know I didn't leave those - !"), Ron's melancholy sunk to a whole new level. He knew he couldn't go to the wedding; knew he wouldn't be able to handle seeing Hermione Granger, the love of his life in spite of everything, marry some random man who wasn't him, but still, he couldn't help but feel that he at least needed some closure, some way to put this all to rest and try to move on with his life.

Had he made a mistake in ripping his invitation?

By the time Ron had made up his mind to go along with Harry to the church and to simply wait outside until the ceremony was through (which was a decided improvement over his original plan, which consisted of barging into the church, running down the aisle, and crying "I do!" once the minister asked "If anyone knows any lawful impediment why these two people should not be married, I charge them before God and these witnesses to speak now or forever hold their peace") so that he could see Hermione and say goodbye without actually having to watch the ceremony, Harry was calling from the doorway "I'm leaving, Ron, mate! See you in a bit!"

Mentally, Ron kicked himself. _Should have been faster making up my mind!_ he snarled inwardly. He couldn't go now. It wouldn't be quite right to show up on the steps of a grand church after having apparated there, which was why Harry was taking a taxi, and since Ron didn't know how to do that, he was stuck. He supposed he could walk, but...

_I'm being an idiot, _he told himself, _there's nothing wrong with not going. I couldn't face her anyway._

With that, Ron curled up on his bed in a little ball, and hauled the covers up over his face, blocking out the light. It was 1:00 in the afternoon, so there truly was no reason for Ron to still be in bed, and he knew he was acting like a petulant child, but he didn't care. He was in far too much pain for that.

* * *

Later that evening, upon hearing the main door to the flat bang shut, Ron's eyes slowly opened. He looked around his bedroom, wondering why it was beginning to get ever-so-slightly dark in there.

_Must have dozed off for a few minutes,_ Ron told himself, _maybe my eyes are just a bit unfocussed_. Upon looking at the clock on the desk next to his bed, however, he realized that it was 7:30.

He had been asleep for six and a half hours without even realizing it.

"Oh God," Ron moaned, sitting up and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. As he did this, he heard Harry's voice coming from the kitchen.

"Ron?" Harry called, "You here, mate?"

_He must be back from the wedding,_ Ron told himself, getting slowly out of bed and ambling out into the hall. Sure enough, when he reached the kitchen he saw Harry standing there, taking off his sports jacket.

"How was it?" Ron asked Harry, trying to keep his voice casual as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans so Harry wouldn't see them clenched into fists. He wasn't feeling violent; the fists were merely manifestations of the tension in his body.

Harry shrugged, "It was fine, I suppose, lasted a long time though. Then I went over to the dining hall they rented for their reception dinner and had a drink."

"Oh," Ron said simply. There were a million questions on his mind that he would have given anything to ask Harry - How was Hermione? Did she seem happy? What did she say to you? Did she notice I wasn't there? - but he decided instead to keep his mouth shut. Walking past Harry to get himself a glass of water, Ron noticed for the first time a small, thin envelope enclosed in Harry's hand. "Harry," Ron asked, staring at the envelope, "what's that? Hedwig hasn't been back from hunting all day, mate."

Harry looked at his friend and noticed he was staring intently at what he had in his hand. He hadn't wanted to give this to Ron immediately; had wanted to wait until he had ensured that Ron was all right. However, it seemed that there was nothing for it. He handed the envelope to Ron hesitantly.

"This is for you, mate," Harry explained, "Hermione told me to give it to you."

Ron had to force back the golf ball-sized lump that had begun to form in his throat. His mouth went dry and he could feel his palms begin to sweat. _From Hermione._

What on earth could she have to say to him now?

* * *

Ron decided against reading the letter until later that evening, when he was safely inside his bedroom with the door shut and locked. He didn't know why, but he wanted to be alone when he read whatever it was that Hermione had written.

With shaking hands, Ron tore open the envelope and extracted from it a single sheet of cream-coloured parchment, covered in Hermione's minute, perfect writing.

_Dear Ron -_ (It read)

_I've tossed around the idea of writing this for quite a while. One moment, I was convinced that to write this letter would be a good thing, and the next, I was talking myself out of it, saying that it would only be stupid and that I should get a grip._

_If you're reading this, you didn't come to my wedding. I told myself I would only give this to you if you didn't come, because if you did, I would have of course explained this to you myself in person. If Harry comes to the wedding, I'll be giving this to him to pass along to you, but if he doesn't, I'll send it along with a post owl. Either way, by the time you read this, I'll be married._

_So here goes nothing:_

_I'm deeply sorry you didn't come to my wedding, Ron. I would have loved to have seen you. The way things ended between us back in March confused me to no end, and I still really have no idea what happened or why you never wrote to me. I care about you very much and I only hope that you are all right._

_Which brings me to the real point of this letter._

_You may or may not know this, but I have loved you ever since I first met you at Hogwarts and became friends with you and Harry. I might not have realized that at first, but it has always been true. In my heart, I've always known that you were the person I would want to spend the rest of my life with; the person I loved above anyone else. I don't know how I would have gotten through my years at Hogwarts without you._

_When we graduated and went our separate ways, I always assumed that we would keep in touch and visit each other as often as possible. I also hoped that someday, you and I would be together (if that was what you wanted, of course). Years went on with no word to that end, and we only wrote a few short letters to each other every few months. You didn't have a phone, so I couldn't call you, and you never told me where you lived, so I couldn't visit, as badly as I wanted to do either of those things. Life got in the way of our staying in touch, and now here we are._

_I care about Thomas very much, and I do love him, but nothing I say or do to convince myself that I don't love you anymore seems to be working. I can't do anything about how I feel. You will always be my first love._

_From now on, we must move forward in our own lives. We can of course stay in touch if you would want to do that, but I am married as of now, and as much in love with someone who isn't you as I can possibly be. Thomas is a good man. He loves me, and I love him, so that is that. I know that one day, you will find a wonderful woman who worships you, and you will be blissfully happy with her. I can't help wishing that if I had told you this sooner, perhaps that blissfully happy woman would be me, but unfortunately, that ship has sailed._

_In any case, Ronald, I wish for you nothing but the very best of everything in life and all the joy you can squeeze out of every moment. If you ever need me, you know that I will always be here._

_Sincerely,_

_Love Hermione_

One page. Eight paragraphs. A collection of mere words, written in Hermione's hand, summing up so succinctly everything that Ron had wanted to say to her himself.

That was all.

* * *

So there you have it! Quite literally, that _was_ all.

Haha. I made a funny. XD

In all seriousness, though, thanks so much to everyone who took the time to read my fic, especially to everyone who reviewed it or added myself or the fic to any alert list. You have no idea how much it means. Thanks also for sticking by me and remainin patient while I took forever to upload this final chapter. I hope you all enjoyed my story.

And hey, just because this one's over doesn't mean you've seen the last of me! ;) I'm always writing something, so I almost guarantee that before long, I'll be back with something else. Until then, sayonara, and take care everyone!

Peace and light,  
- Serah :)


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